Кандидат филологических наук, доцент, член Союза писателей РФ. Пишу стихи и прозу. Перевожу и поэзию, и прозу на русский и английский. Учу этому студентов и школьников. Родилась в Казахстане. Училась и долгое время работала в пединституте г.Кокшетау. Сейчас живу в Пскове, Россия. Мои чувства к этим дорогим для меня местам могу выразить в стихах: И люблю сердцем нежно,/Чем по праву горжусь,/Казахстан мой безбрежный/И великую Русь.
I am a candidate of science, a dotsent, a member of the Union of Russian writers. My sphere of interest is writing poetry and prose as well as translating both into English and Russian. I try to develop these skills in my students. I was born in Kazakhstan where I studied and then worked for a long time in the pedagogical Institute of Kokshetau. Now I live in the city of Pskov, Russia. My feelings for these dear to me places can be expressed in these poetic lines: And I tenderly love them./ That’s my pride and my truth,/Which is great — not to fathom/ Like Kazakhstan and Russ/.
Перевод отрывка рассказа «Огуречный тракт»
Now, riding on the wayside past the paralyzed row of cars, a big Mercedes wheeled in the square; it was followed by a huge-like-a carriage black jeep. Four well-fed formidable looking lads wearing black suits and ties rushed out of it. They looked round in a professional manner and without delay began driving the tumultuous crowd back towards the road. Ivan was surprised to see a short-barreled gun in one of the men’s hands.
Soon the square became empty. The people, pushed away to their cars, spoke emotionally in undertone, but mostly shot glances at the direction of the Mercedes. The door of it, just from the driver’s side uncorked, and there appeared a tall blond man of energetic looks wearing a bright green coat. He quickly rounded the car and opened the right back door… Firstly a foot in a pointed black shoe with not a speck of dust on it touched the asphalt, felt it with disgust as if testing the earth’s validity. After being reassured that all is more or less suitable, the foot summoned its mate, and then, in a second, all the rest came in sight: a dark man of medium height in a very expensive stylish striped suit. Master!
«May he be our governor or maybe some minister?» Ivan thought, but on a better look understood: «No, our governor is, by no means, younger and looks somewhat more homely, he does. Then minister, isn’t he?»
«Yakov Lvovich!» a nervously-looking plump undersized fellow rushed up to the master. «What place would you order to call? The district administration? The district office? Or right President’s administration?»
«Call the devil himself if you choose, Aron, but in half of an hour I must be in that damned district center.» The Master was speaking in a confident rattling like a cracked telephone membrane voice. And though not a single muscle moved on his well-cared long-nosed face, Aron cowered and became quite tiny. He jumped aside, snatched a phone from out of his pocket and hysterically began yelling something.
Ivan could not make out the words for Aron turned to the wall and kind of enveloped the telephone with his jelly-like body; he only could hear violent frantic yells. Like a hysterical woman, really, — he thought and turned his eyes to the Master. The latter holding his nose with a handkerchief paced the square in a measured tread, four hefty guards protecting him.
«How mach are the cucumbers?»
Ivan started and saw the wearing-green-coat driver who squated in front of him.
«What?» He tried to concentrate to remember the price of his mother’s kitchen-garden gift he had kept to from the morning, and having remembered it with effort he reported: «Fifteen a kilo.»
«You mean roubles, do you?» grinned the driver displaying a row of white teeth which shone like those on an advertising poster. «Why, it’s kind of cucumber road that you are having here. When driving here from the city I got tired to count cucumber sellers like you. Where did so many of you appear from? Here you are,» he held out a ten-dollar note and took from the bag the smallest cucumber. «Is it enough? I am Pavel, by the way.»
Ivan said his name and tried to return the money: «Why, take it for nothing. There are so many cucumbers, you know, because the cucumber crop was good this year. Last year all were selling mushrooms here. So the secret is quite simple. You take your money back, will you?»
«You don’t mean to offend me, chief, do you?» Pavel smiled a wider than before smile. «I am paid well enough», he motioned to his master. «A pretty pot of fish is here.» He warily bit off from the cucumber and spat: «Phew, what a bitter stuff! Our papa is obviously wrought up! I wonder what is going on here?»
«A crash they say,» Ivan was still fumbling the bank-note in his hands doubting what to do with it, «somewhere in front, right on the road a log transporter has overturned.»
«Well, I do know this,» Pavel waved his hand impatiently, «but our papa is none the better for it. He is being awaited in your god-forsaken district center by the Head and deputies. Though, this is nothing. What really matters is that in three hours his plane is taking off. For London. The plane of his own.»